A Cargo of Green Hearts
~POEMS~
I wonder what I will do with the night when all the crickets have died and the zeros come to roost their crystalline holes all over the wind stripped trees. the crickets, who anchor the night to the reasonable hours and keep it from spreading all over everything the way it does in November, the month when razor blades sharpen themselves and the dead won't stop dying. I eye the guitar in the corner that promised to teach me magic words but that was April. time does not wait and I am beginning to suspect the postman of keeping all the love letters for himself and the mice of turning the hands of the clock ahead just a bit. Comments are closed.
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Poetry LogPoems are posted here when I'm ready to share them. I often don't title my poems. The date you see above the poem may be the date it was posted here and not necessarily the date it was created. To see more, click on the Archives below. Archives
January 2020
CategoriesUnless otherwise noted, all content ©Paul-William Gagnon, Creative Commons Attribution-Non Commercial-NoDerivs license.
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